


ShikaTema Week Drabbles

by lethargicshadowlover



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Universe, F/M, Fluff, bare in mind that when I wrote almost all of these Boruto didn't exist, only for one though, pretty much exclusively fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicshadowlover/pseuds/lethargicshadowlover
Summary: A collection of my better contributions to ShikaTema Weeks on tumblr over the years with only minor edits made since.{tumblr: notquitejiraiya}
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Breath [2016 - Day 1]

It felt so incredibly new to have her arms cocooning his body possessively as she slept. Over the course of the night her sleep had got deeper and her grip weaker and weaker, but still her hands pressed against his bare skin as they had the moment she fell asleep; firm yet docile.

Shikamaru, however, had spent the whole night somehow uneasy, unable to sleep despite being worn out beyond imagining from the day he’d had. He felt peaceful and content with his arm wrapped around Temari’s bare shoulders but somehow it wasn’t enough to let him sleep.

Or was it _too much,_ too good for him to not be awake for?

He could feel her body against his, her chest growing then deflating every few seconds, and the softness of her skin was unimaginably perfect. Messy blonde hair tickled him and soft pink lips grazed his chest with heat - breath after breath. It had got heavier as her sleep had deepened and his heart fuller with the joy of finally experiencing this.

Here he was, finally lying in bed in ecstasy with Temari; a personal favourite spot with his favourite person…the only troublesome thing was how tired he _wasn’t_.

After seeing how often she had to make trips to Konoha, it had been decided that their positions would be reversed for a period of time. _He_ would make the arduous, and irritatingly hot, voyage to Suna to save her the hassle. Of course, at the mention of the idea, the young man had sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the Hokage with disbelief. “Do I have to?” he’d groaned, trying to get himself out of work by way of a guilt-trip. But the Sixth knew him far too well to fall for it. Hell, everyone in the village did by this point.

Secretly though it had to be said that he _had_ been excited. Excited to make the trip, however troublesome it be, just to finally see her again.

When they’d last seen one another they’d discussed many things including the possibility of a relationship, but they both knew while they were so far apart it would be far too hard when both of them lead such busy, different lives. That didn't take into consideration the issues his clan or the Suna council might pose in time. So, simply, it had been agreed: nothing was to happen between them or things would get complicated.

But still, she’d waited at the gate to Suna for him, arms crossed and foot tapping. Cheeks flushed as she caught eyes with him, and as she awkwardly welcomed him, a beautiful smile crept onto her face.

How could he do anything but mimic it?

Now, a week on, he should’ve gone home. He had business to attend to - a full on mission to carry out in only a few days time - but none of that mattered to him now. All Shikamaru could focus on was her, and the way her fringe fluttered and flicked with every deep breath.

When she was asleep we she was so serene and gentle, and her touch so soft. It gave him shivers of excitement through his body as she groaned, repositioning herself with a happy, heavy sigh. He’d waited long enough for this that it felt like an impossible dream. All he needed now was a cigarette and another twenty kisses and he _knew_ he’d be asleep.

A smirk played on his lips as he moved a free hand on top of hers, gently tracing the lines of her knuckles and nails. He moved his fingers mindlessly, finding himself eventually cupping her cheek and, involuntarily, stirring her.

“Shikamaru…?” whispered Temari against his chest. Teal eyes squinted at him, full of sleep. “What’s up? Why are you awake?”

“No reason,” he replied nonchalantly, sending a soft smile her way. “Just thinking is all.”

“Thinking 'bout what?”

Shikamaru couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle. The way sleep filled her senses and deepened her breathing was so cute and different to usual. It was a sight he’d dreamt of, not that he’d ever admit that to her, and he couldn't help but be scared it was one he’d rarely see again.

“About you, I suppose.” He let his head fall back. “You and me, and what happens tomorrow when I leave for home.”

Her deep breaths stopped, and her body tensed slightly, causing guilt to surge through his body in such a way he’d never quite felt before. So much so that he couldn’t bring himself to look at her and rather just let his gaze rest on the ceiling above, staring at nothing to avoid the horrible look he was sure was in her eyes.

Temari stumbled for words, trying a few but none felt right to continue with. As he listened he could hear her discomfort, and kept a gentle hold of her hand in his…he couldn’t bring himself to let go. But slowly, the breaths he felt grew further up his chest, tickling his skin with a gentle tingling sensation the closer to his neck they got. It was an alluring feeling; one that almost consumed his worry, but not quite.

His eyes remained firmly closed.

With one final breath against his cheek, he felt her take her hand from his grasp and move it up his chest. “You…don’t have to leave, do you?” she sighed. Pressing a gentle kiss on his cheekbone, her hand stopped on his jaw, slowly tracing it. “It’d be so much better if you stayed.”

For a moment he forgot how it was he was able to breathe, and the feeling of absolute adoration as his eyes opened and locked on hers was unbelievable. But he had to move, to breathe; he had to find words, however much he just wanted to lean in and kiss those perfect lips that brushed against his so teasingly every few seconds.

“I can’t. You know that.”

“But there must be something you can-”

“Temari, I’m no magician. I wish I could stay, but I can’t.” His mind wandered to his mother, all alone in that house, and how as soon as he said hello he'd be saying goodbye once more. His gut wretched. “There’s people back home who need me.”

Temari’s breath hitched in her throat as she rolled over and lay on her back. Carefully, she laced her fingers between his, squeezing her eyes such to stop the tears she could feel coming. It had been too long she’d waited to listen to the way he breathed so heavily as he concentrated…concentrated on _her_.

Side by side they lay, hand in hand, both of them just half awake, but their feelings more alive and hectic than ever.

“As much as we want this, try this, it never works out,” Temari whimpered. “We’re completely fucked, aren’t we, Shikamaru?“

She bit down on her lip, masking her whines and sniffs as awkward sighs. But there was no hiding it from Shikamaru. He knew those inconsistent breaths meant crying; sadness. It was something that he felt responsible for somehow, and involuntarily, his hand squeezed hers tighter in condolence.

“For now, maybe,” he said, staring at the darkness of the ceiling, still, “but it won’t be forever. I won't let it be. It might be a pain but you’re everything I could ever want, even if you are the most troublesome woman I know…”

A feeling of pride swelled in Temari’s stomach, overpowering her sadness just enough to let her move and curl up into the side of the man who lay still beside her. And although he couldn’t sleep Shikamaru, too, tried to be happy for what he had right now. 

There he lay, holding back his tears, fearing she might stir again; worrying if this - the very first time - was the last time he’d ever hear the soft, sweet whistle of her breath as she slept on his chest.


	2. Entice [2016 - Day 3]

_Click._

With an entirely neutral expression, he slapped down a piece and fell back with a sigh. His lips remained parted slightly as he reached up and let his hair down with a yawn, eyes focussed on the board and the pieces set like soldiers upon it.

“Explain,” whispered Shikamaru. “It’s so late - why are we playing shogi? You _never_ want to play when I do…”

Instead of answering, Temari bit down harder on her lip. She’d been pinning it so tightly between her teeth she was sure that soon it would begin to bleed.

For well over than hour and a half the pair had sat there, both half dressed, staring at the board and listening to the sharp click of when he put a piece so aggressively down. Well, he’d been staring at the board; _she’d_ been staring at _him_.

_Click._

Her moves were softer, and even lighter was the motion of her hands as she gently tapped the edge of the board to distract him. Not like it would ever stray her boyfriend from the game that held his focus better than anything else on the planet - it seemed he payed more attention to shogi moves when they played than he did to her whenever she spoke.

“Because I felt like it,” she lied. “And I’m wide awake.”

Shikamaru forced a laugh through his concentration. “You yawn every five minutes, Tem. You’re not wide awake.”

“You love playing. Shut up.”

He couldn’t argue with her truth. After all, it was because he liked the game so much that she ever wanted to learn to play, and he appreciated that.

Looking up from the pieces below she stared at him intently. Something about watching him as he strategised and executed his passion riled her up with all sort of feeling, although she’d never admit so to him. And now, late at night with a single lamp illuminating his skin from forehead to the base of his bare abdomen, he seemed more irresistible to her than ever.

In a matter of seconds he slapped down his next piece, drawing his hand back into his lap with determination blazing in those dark eyes bearing down over the wooden board. He stopped thinking for a moment, his breathing heavy as he awaited her next move. When her hand stood still in her lapand her gaze remained on him his eyes darted up, agitated by the lack of continuation.

“It’s your move,” he growled.

“I know.”

With a huff he crossed his arms. “Go on, then.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Temari, your next move is painfully obvious. Stop being a drag and make a move or-”

“Fine,” she sighed, breaking her stare for a moment to guide her hand, picking up a piece completely at random and slapping in down.

_Click._

Shikamaru frowned at the blank expression she wore, looking up and down at her and the pieces. “You’re _kidding_ me?” He was in shock, unimpressed, troubled by her attitude. Temari _always_ wanted to beat him, even at the pettiest of things, let alone games.

She should’ve been scheming, too clever to give away her next move or allow him an easy one. But, instead, all night she had been sat there in a shirt - that truthfully belonged to him - playing it safe and allowing him to take whatever he pleased whenever he wanted to. He hated it when she didn’t put up a fight. He wanted to play, not to be forced to demonstrate.

“Stop staring at me and listen. If you’d have put your knight there then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” His hand hovered above a piece and swooped down, dropping said tile elsewhere.

_Click._

“Check-mate.”

Temari bit down on her lip again, but this time she wasn't even nearly feigning concentration. His hair was falling into his eyes, a messy and dark blanket shrouding him and helping accentuate the sharp edge of his jaw. More than anything she wanted to pull him towards her and kiss it, and let his hands roam her body and progress further and further down until-

“Tem, stop it. It’s really getting on my nerves.”

“So what?” she groaned, running a hand through her loose hair. “It’s only a game, Shikamaru.”

“But you _never_ treat it as just a game,” he barked in response. “What is _wrong_ with you, woman? And why do you keep looking at me like…like…”

“Like what?” snapped Temari, frowning and crossing her arms just under her breasts. Even through the baggy shirt of his she war, he couldn’t deny how blatantly obvious she was being. “Spit it out.”

Shikamaru swallowed - not out of nerves or embarrassment, but because he thought he’d soon forget to breathe and choke on his saliva if he didn’t stop staring at her chest. “Like _that_.” His face flushed and his brow furrowed deeper. “Like you want to fuck me or something.”

She snorted and got to her feet, towering above him, but the hem of the shirt she wore fell just in Shikamaru’s line of sight, beneath it the pair of legs and hips that he loved to stare at as they swayed so elegantly. Teal eyes bore down her nose at him, with her lip once against firmly between her front teeth.

He had to admit she was starting to scare him, and it was making him want her desperately.

“If you noticed, then why haven’t you made a move yet?” Temari hissed gently, taking steps around the board to his side, where she fell to her knees right beside him, lips on his ear. “If you noticed, you should’ve _done_ something, _shouldn’t you_?”

The whisper sent chills through his body, and he could feel his trousers tightening by the second. He could only hope she wouldn’t notice, too preoccupied by the brushing of her supple pink lips against his neck to pay attention to anything else. Across his skin he could feel the fluttering of her eyelashes, continually brushing up and down as she kissed over and over until she reached his collarbone. “Are you going to answer me?” she said, her tone low and her breath hot against his cold skin.

“Uh-huh,” he gulped, letting his eyes close; easy prey. Slowly a smirk started to appear on his lips. “I just wanted to play the game. I was engrossed in it- uh!”

An embarrassing mixture of a wince and a moan escaped his lips as she gently nibbled on his collar bone. “Shikamaru, when will you learn that a woman needs your attention more than some stupid, wooden board does?”

He pushed her back slightly, lifting his hands and cupping her cheeks with his hands. A deep, lustful look took over his eyes as he held her chin. “Maybe when a woman stops giving me such hassle.”

“No woman but _me_ , I hope.” Temari’s smirk grew as she closed the distance between their lips.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so sadly 2020 me is just as bad at writing sexy stuff as 2016 me why am i like this ffs


	3. Legacy [2016 - Day 7]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so give me a break on the MiraDai I liked it back then (*cough* still do but team Inojin now, sorry Mirai *cough*), and this written long before Boruto started...enjoy

After twenty knocks and eight shouts Shikadai still awaited acknowledgment from his father. He waited out in the Konoha rain, standing helplessly at the door for a response while tiny bullet of water beat him continuously. With every drop he felt a little colder, and the want for warmth and a cigarette grew and grew.

“Dad!” he called, banging on the door with as much force as his cold, rigid muscles could muster.

With no rush, the door was heaved open, revealing the older man leaning sluggishly against the wall beside the doorway. It had been many months since Shikadai had seen his father, but Shikamaru didn’t look at all different than before, except for the flecks of grey that were sneakily weaving their way into his jet black hair. Although the bastard had taken an age to open the door to him, and was still stood simply standing rather than letting him in, Shikadai was insanely glad to see the old man again.

“Took you long enough,” he mused, rubbing the back of his neck as he squinted to shield his eyes from the pummelling rain.

He watched as a snide grin grew on his father’s face. “What do you want, kid?”

Shikadai managed a smile through the biting cold that picked at his cheeks. “Well, old man,” he sighed, “let me in. I want to pick your brain.”

“About what?”

“Dad, I’m serious,” groaned the young man. “Just let me in.”

“Why?”

“Parental responsibility and all that shit.”

“You’re twenty-four,” sighed the older man.

“ _You_ still have _a lot_ to pass on to me, however.”

Shikamaru smirked, opening the door further and pulling his son into a friendly hug. That look in his son's eye meant only one thing to him. For what purpose he wasn’t certain, but that didn’t stop him from being pleased with the request those eyes gave.

His hand slapped his con'sback as a loud chuckle spat from his throat; “I just set up a game.”

“You’re on, old man.”

* * *

The first game ended in minutes with Shikadai completely unfocused and frozen to the bone - that was his _excuse_ anyway. All he did was keep looking at the door, asking when his mother would get home, and fiddling with the ring around his finger nervously. Shikamaru was almost worried, but rather than pestering his son with questions and stress, he chose to sit back and lay out the board for another game; one in which he’d go much easier on him, and slow down.

The pieces clicking back into their home positions is what bright Shikadai back into the room. Before he’d been half there, visions of his wife darting through his head with worry and fear, taking over his mind without a second appearance. It had only been hours but he missed her, and he worried for what messes she might’ve gotten herself into.

As he looked at his father, hands held strangely with his usual scrunched up thinking expression on his face, Shikadai couldn’t help but acknowledged how similar to his father he undeniably was.

When he was younger, both Shikamaru and Temari had looked after him in equal measures, each making their own mark on the boy. But it was safe to say that Shikamaru’s mark was firmer and larger, although whether that impact was positive or not was still up for debate. To this day, though married and a successful Jonin, Shikadai was still impeccably like his father, and held the same values and resolve as the old man sat in front of him. The love for games and thought had passed on, too, and the older he grew the more he strayed from the video games that consumed his teenage years and entered back into the territory of board games, his father’s era and shogi.

Playing shogi with his father was an experience he _always_ wanted, even now, and he cherished those silent memories, those infinite _losses_ with everything in him as infinite tiny victories. Maybe at the time he’d shown rejection, but looking back it was during those times Shikamaru had made the best and biggest effect on him, taught him the calm and patience he needed.

Shogi conversation between father and son was very little, it always had been and that way was how they wanted it. But today, while Shikamaru still sailed that same old boat from his son’s youth, Shikadai wanted more. He had things to say. But every time he opened his mouth the speak he saw his father’s piece click back down and, not wanting to disposing the man that meant so much to him, went back to deciphering his next move.

“Your mother always wanted you to be a girl, you know?” said Shikamaru, straight faced as he watched his son plonk down another tile. “She said she wanted our oldest to be a girl, and have the experience she had of looking after her family when we had more. But really, I think she just wanted the laugh of seeing how awkward I’d be when she went through all the girly things.”

Shikadai chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds more like mum.”

“Looking back I _think_ \- no, actually, I _know_ she was scared she wouldn’t be able to see her daughter wear her mother's engagement ring. She decided it was a tradition, since her mum wore it and she wore it that our daughter would have to.” He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as he rubbed his hand on his neck. “But once we had you, we decided we only _wanted_ _you_ , and you took it and give it to Mirai anyway like I always knew you would.”

“Shut up, Dad,” blushed Shikadai.

Shikamaru shook his head with a soft smile. “Sorry. How is she, by the way?”

A lump rose in the young man's throat and he averted his eyes froths father’s face to his hand, nervously twisting his wedding band around his finger. “She’s, um…yeah, she’s good.”

His father always took the mickey out of him for the events of his relationship, not because he wasn’t proud, disapproved or because he wanted to make his son feel bad. It was simply because he’d guessed it right from the start. Since they were young, Shikadai had shown interest in Mirai Sarutobi. Not an instinctive attraction. No, it was more like what his mother had father had when they first got to know one another - mutual respect and intrigue, nothing more.

Like Temari with Shikamaru, she was a few years older, but nowadays he towered over her in height. His intelligence, thanks to years of shogi and aided by genetics (both from his father), exceeded hers easily no matter how much younger he was than her, but that didn’t stop his ditsy, moments. When he was dippy - when he was wrong - he would so rarely admit it.

“You’re like your mother,” Shikamaru always told him. “You’re too stubborn.”

He was right.

Shikadai gave him a smile as he administered his next move to the game. “Glad to hear it.”

Suddenly, a sound came from the hallway and Shikadai whipped his head round. “Mum?” he called lazily, not bothered enough to shout all out. “Mum, is that you?”

Temari rushed in, a packet of cigarettes in one hand and her dripping wet raincoat thrown over her arm. “Oh my word, Shikadai. You should’ve warned us you were coming.”

“I didn’t know I would be,” he chuckled, standing up to give his mother the first hug in so many months. “It was a last minute decision. Mirai went to see Kurenai so-”

“So you thought you’d come see us.” She nodded, knowingly. “This is _rare_ , so there must be something for you to tell us.”

It was then, as Temari looked deep into his eyes - eyes she’d given him - that he knew she could anticipate what he had to say. She had taught him many things: to be feisty, to hold his ground and he did try not to let the side of him like his father take over. It worked sometimes, but something he always managed thanks to her was an ability she didn’t openly show; not to anyone but her family at least.

She had taught him to read people, just like she could. Their expressions, their feelings, what they needed, what they wanted - she could tell it from a five second glance. So he knew she could feel the worry that emanated from him, because he could feel the confusion that came from her.

Loyal and intelligent. Stubborn, strong. Like _father_ , like son. Like _mother_ , like son. Shikadai really was the best - and worst - of both of them, they had to admit. You looked at him and saw Temari’s glare stare back at you, but the posture and features of his old man were almost overpowering.

They’d done a fine job with their son, their creation; their legacy to the world.

I only hope I can do as well, thought Shikadai.

He bit down on his lip and collapsed back into position in front of the shogi board, ignoring his mother whilst he fumbled for the right words inside his head. Shikamaru watched on wordlessly, eyes flicking from him to Temari and back again. Silently he held out his hand, reaching for the cigarettes his wife clutched in her palm. When Temari passed them, he immediately set one to his lips, throwing the rest of the packet at his son, who caught it instinctively. “Go on,” Shikamaru told him. “Spit it out, kid.”

“You can’t keep calling him that, Shikamaru.” Temari walked past him and smacked the back of his head. “He’s not a kid anymore: a married man and all grown up.” She smiled through her complaints. “Still our little boy, though.”

Shikadai blushed as he watched his parents. His father’s face was unchanged bar a smirk that appeared as he shook his head at his wife’s gentle complaints to him, and her hand held his shoulder as she stood beside him, looking at her son almost in disbelief at her husbands nonchalant ways. He couldn’t help but smile, knowing how similar he was to the older gent in front of him. Really, he couldn’t complain - his father was a great man, and his mother was the perfect balance to him.

“Come on then, kid.”

Without a thought his mouth fell open.

 _My parents are so great, so perfect for one another,_ he thought. _The_ right _match, the right pairing to bring up a young man to be stable…_

“You’ve got something to say, say it, honey.”

_The perfect parents for me - for anyone. They showed me that love doesn’t need to be said to be felt so strongly._

“Go on,” urged Shikamaru. “Or she'll force it out of you.”

"Shut it, I will not!"

_They were brilliant, they taught me so much, and I don’t want to let him down…_

Temari bit down on her lip, digging her nails into her husbands shoulder. “Shikadai, you’re worrying me now. Are you sick?”

Finally, he felt it in him to speak aloud, but managed only four words. Four words that caused his mother to cover her mouth and his father’s broad shoulders to deflate with a smile, knowing the feeling Shikadai was feeling at that second:

“You’re gonna be grandparents.”

* * *

He looked at the little son in his arms as his wife slept peacefully. It would be wrong to wake her after he’d just made his life so much better, and been through so much whilst he wasn’t even able to make it.

Looking down into the face of his son, Shikadai felt his heart soar, his head in the clouds with nothing weighing him down but the reality of responsibility. The baby’s hair, the little tufts were black like his parents, but as his eyes squinted and fluttered, he saw a flicker of the teal orbs he and his mother had behind his lids, and the shape was that of his father’s.

Otherwise, he was just like his mother, but the beauty that stood out to him then was that of the people who raised him, changed him, made him the man he was.

A couple who gave him life and showed him how to live it - possibly not to the absolute _fullest_ , but to the happiest and most suited to him. They’d made him a fine shinobi and lead him - no, _thrown_ him - down the path of life with guidance rather than leading his every footstep. Shikadai had become his own man, but only thanks to his mother and father’s input and influence as a pair.

And as he stared at his wife lying blissfully, her body shaking with huge breaths of relief, he could only imagine what went on his father’s head as he had been born. The complaints, the shouting, the cussing; it must’ve been off the scale, but he felt he could now connect with his father better.

Still, he couldn’t praise them enough for all they had done.

“I promise, kid,” he whispered, pressing a kiss on his tiny forehead, “I will try my hardest to give you as good as life as my parents gave me.”

He opened up the locket round his neck - the one passed down from his paternal grandmother to him - and stared at the images inside. “You better work to continue the legacy they fought so hard with my stubborn arse to continue. ‘Cause they are amazing, and they deserve the absolute world.”

They stared back at him from his son's eyes. _Two_ great shinobi, _one_ perfect couple, and the best most inspirational parents a young man could’ve wish for.


End file.
